


The Harrowing of Hell

by DarknessBetweenTheStars



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Book: Gideon the Ninth (Locked Tomb Trilogy), CW: description of suicide, Canon-Typical Suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Party, Content Warning: Ianthe Tridentarius, Cunnilingus, F/F, Ghosts, Ghosts of Christmas, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Hell, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Post-Canon, Post-Harrow the Ninth (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Skeletons, Winter Solstice, lesbian jesus, perfect lyctorhood, rude ghosts, the harrowing of hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessBetweenTheStars/pseuds/DarknessBetweenTheStars
Summary: Harrowhark screamed. Tears streamed down her own face now. She could not do this. She absolutely and fundamentally could not do this. The reality of what she’d just witnessed hit her like a rapier straight to the chest. She thought her heart had been broken before. What lies she’d told herself…what a fool she had been.At the Winter Solstice, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is visited by three ghosts.OR:The Harrowing of Hell doctrine x A Christmas Carol mashup straight out of a nightmare.Set after the events of Harrow the Ninth.
Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Harrowhark Nonagesimus/Ianthe Tridentarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: The Locked Tomb Holiday Smut Festival 2020





	The Harrowing of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the Content Warnings for this. Specifically CW: Canon-typical depiction of suicide.

The tomb was silent.

As it always was.

Harrowhark couldn’t remember how long she had been asleep. It felt like forever.

Flashes of the outside world drifted in here and there. But it was always muffled, as if she was viewing it through a Ninth House nun’s veil . She heard voices. Heard her voice. She knew she was still alive, alone out there in a strange land Harrow had never seen. Harrow wasn’t sure what was happening. It was too painful to watch, so she’d just dive back into herself. Swirling, like water in a tide pool. Descending deeper and deeper, until she was back in her cold, dark tomb.

The locked tomb. Home.

She knew it was not real. Not really. But something about it felt more genuine and true than anywhere else she had ever known. She wasn’t the Reverend Daughter here. Not Harrowhark the First. She was just Harrow. Alone with her true love’s sword, her single dirty magazine, and her ghosts. Knowing she was once here, and that she still lived was enough.

Until one day, another ghost arrived. And Harrow began to second guess every decision she had made over the course of the last year.  
The ghost wasn’t one of her 200. There were always voices. Revenants and spectres of the past, lurking, listening, waiting. Today, something was different. The Body had returned. But it wasn’t The Body—it was Alecto. How she knew this, she had no idea. One minute she was alone. The next, the girl she had worshipped and adored for over a decade was suddenly standing before her, dripping wet, ice frosted on her eyelashes, wrapped in so many chains Harrow wasn’t sure how she could even walk. She beckoned Harrow to follow her through the frigid, frost covered water. Back onto the dusty, hard surface of the tunnel, out to the Ninth House drill shaft.

They walked straight through the wall of the tomb. Bypassing ward after ward as if they weren’t even there. Harrow had never tried to leave. She knew the consequences. Didn’t dare imagine the risk. It was too much. It was always too much, the cost was much too great. She let herself go, so she wouldn’t have to let _her_ go. Harrow was OK with that terrible price.

So when she and Alecto ended up in a cold, dark, dusty catacomb Harrow hadn’t been in for years, she was shocked to hear voices. Voices that included her own, and one she would trade her very soul to hear again in the flesh. Alecto reached a hand out, and stopped her in place so they could watch the scene unfold.

10 year old Gideon was screaming at Harrow. Hot, wet tears streamed down her face as she advanced on Harrow, who must have been what-- only 8 or 9 years old?

“Your parents hate you, and they know how terrible you are! Mine never would have willingly left me!,” shouted Gideon.

“That’s a lie!,” Harrow shouted back. “No one has ever loved you, and no one is ever coming back for you! And even if they did, I’d tell my parents to lock you in an unused storage closet, and make them tell them your parents you died of a brain malfunction!”

“That’s not even real.”

“Yes it is! No one misses you, and you can never leave. So just stop trying!”

“My Mother loved me more than yours ever has, and you know it!”

The younger Harrow’s fist connected with Gideon’s face before she had a chance to react. She knocked the bigger girl to the ground, and clawed and clawed at her face. Blood blossomed on her cheeks, before Gideon pushed Harrow off, pinned her to the ground, and began choking her. Her eyes bulged, she shoved at Gideon, but it was meaningless. The older girl was too strong. Harrow watched her own eyes bulge out of her face, choking and desperate for air, until Gideon finally gave up, and let the smaller girl free. Young Harrow gasped, and cried, and screamed, then crawled away and vomited into the dust.

She laid there for what seemed like forever; sobbing hysterically, and trying to catch her breath. Gideon had long since run off. The present day Harrow was too distracted by trying, and failing to comfort her younger self to see where she had gone. No matter what she said or did, young Harrow couldn’t hear or see her. So she just looked on with a crushing sense of despair as her younger self got up, and walked down the tunnels, back to the locked tomb, and toward the end of life as she knew it.

Harrow knew now it wasn’t any gift or ability of her own, no blessed necromantic tomb-keeper bloodline that opened the wards to the locked tomb. It was Gideon’s blood under her fingernails and on the back of her palms, splattered like a broken tube of paint over her bare skin. Her entire existence-- the sin of her birth, the loss of an entire generation of her House-- had been unnecessary, nullified by baby Gideon’s arrival on the Ninth.

She and Alecto followed behind, then watched silently as young Harrow approached the outer doors, and worked the necessary necromantic theorems to undo the blood wards. Suddenly, the locked door opened. Harrow walked inside. Completely unaware that Gideon stood behind her, just down the cave, watching every moment of Harrow’s crime, before she ran off to tell the Reverend Mother and Father of their daughter’s transgression.

The tunnel was so silent that Harrow could hear the drips from some ancient trickling water source deep in the walls. She looked toward Alecto, and finally asked her the question that had been burning in her brain since she first woke up: “Why are we here?”

Alecto gazed at her pityingly, looking sadder and showing more emotion than Harrow had ever seen her express before.

She tilted her head at Harrow, and asked one single question: “Is this how it started?”

****

Harrow opened her eyes, safe back in her tomb, confused how she got there. She sat up abruptly, the two-hander she clutched like a favorite doll rolling off her body, and clacking to the floor. She winced, then leaned down and picked the painfully heavy sword up off of the dusty ground. As she raised her head back up, she saw that once again, she was not alone.

Abigail Pent stood across the water on the shore, dressed in layer upon layer of black Ninth House robes. She was so swathed in the heavy fabric, Harrow almost hadn’t recognized her. Like Alecto before her, she beckoned Harrow toward her. Unlike the spectral beauty, Abigail actually spoke to her.

“I’m here to show you your future. You already saw the past. What started you down this path. Now I need to show you where you’ll end up if you continue on this journey.”

They walked together, side by side up through more dusty, dim tunnels, the elevation increasing slowly until they again reached a flat surface, and stood outside Castle Drearburh. Voices echoed from inside, loud and boisterous, accompanied by the sounds of gently clanging dishware and glass cups. She and Abigail walked further inside, until they came upon a scene that froze Harrow down to her very bones.

There was a bustling dinner party happening inside her childhood home, with more people than she had ever seen on The Ninth. Skeleton constructs dashed around the table, pouring wine, and serving rich, decadent looking foods Harrow could never dream of consuming. Strange faces filled the room, none of which she recognized--- other than her own, and one other. An older, more haggard Harrow sat at the head of the table, looking as if she would rather be quilting a blanket made from her own intestines than be at this party. Sitting next to her, with her shining, gilded arm wrapped around Harrow’s shoulder was none other than her sister-lyctor, Ianthe Tridentarius, wearing a lush, dark violet velvet robe, with her face painted in full Ninth house ceremonial paint.

Harrow turned to Abigail, ready to ask her what in the hell was going on, and why she was showing her such a terrible nightmare scenario, when a rapier wielding man dressed in gold who had been sitting across from Ianthe opened his mouth to speak.

“As Captain of the Guard, I wanted to thank everyone for gathering here with us today to celebrate the coming of another solstice. The Ninth doesn’t have many holidays. But it seemed prudent to celebrate this one this year.”

At this proclamation, Harrow wondered when the Ninth decided to have _any_ holidays. Growing up, her childhood had been filled with only penitence and devotion. And death. There wasn’t much to celebrate. She was also confused as to why this man was even speaking in Aiglamene’s place. Searching the faces of as many people at the table as she could, she was unable to locate Aiglemene, _or_ Crux. Her heart sank once the awareness of what exactly that meant hit her like a ton of bricks. They had probably died, alone in the house they devoted their lives to, while she was away pursuing lyctoral duties. Their bodies would be nothing but bones, to be recycled and reused by the House. The Ninth did not believe in waste. 

That strange, blonde, golden clad man continued on: “We’ve all gathered here today to celebrate the renewal of the Ninth. A dying house, estranged from its brothers and sisters no longer. Here’s to a happy, healthy future for all. And as always, we give our thanks to both Ianthe and Harrowhark Tridentarius for being the Reverend Mothers of our House”.

Harrow’s entire world threatened to collapse out from under her feet at the mention of this future Harrow’s name: Harrowhark Tridentarius.

She felt nauseous, and swayed as if she were nearly about to faint. She was disgusted with her future self for allowing this--- her worst nightmare, her parents’ worst nightmare—of all things, to come true. The Ninth had officially become an appendix of The Third. And Harrow had lost her name, her freedom, and her identity in order to secure it.

Maybe even her very soul.

Future Harrow looked about as unhappy as Harrowhark herself did. She flinched under Ianthe’s cold, skeletal touch. Didn’t return her wife’s smiles. Barely nibbled at any of the rich, flavorful foods placed in front of her. She occasionally sipped tiny, bird-like sips of water. Otherwise, she remained as still as a statue. Ianthe finally stopped chatting amongst her guests long enough to glance over at her miserable looking wife.

“Why do you look like someone just drowned your puppy?,” asked Ianthe.”You haven’t looked this shitty since you first came back to us, and found out your cavalier had died. What was her name again? Gremlin?” 

The other Harrow took deep, heaving breaths, reluctantly meeting Ianthe’s eyes before explaining her mood to her wife:

“I’m just not feeling well. My stomach has been unsettled all night. You know how I get around new foods...”

“Some things never change,” said Ianthe. “Well, you’ve done your official duties entertaining everyone for the evening. Why don’t you go lay down and get some rest, beloved.”

The term of endearment left future Harrow looking like she’d just been slapped. Her eyes seemed to gloss over as if they threatened tears at any moment. A small stream of blood trickled out of her nostrils in thin rivulets. She didn’t even bother to wipe them away, before replying. 

“Thank you, dear wife. Have fun at your party. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just fine. No need to end the celebrations early.” And with that, Harrow got up and walked back to the private family quarters.

Ianthe’s laughing voice trailed behind them as Harrowhark and the ghost of Abigail Pent followed the subject of their observation. 

“…oh you know Harrow. The tiniest change of diet upsets her delicate disposition. She’d still prefer to live off nothing but plain water, and stale crackers if I let her!”

Harrow looked to Abigail, desperate once again for clarification of what she’d just witnessed. She asked the older woman how any of this had even come to be, if Gideon was currently occupying her body? 

“You stayed too long,” she said, sadly. “Gideon died in your body, and it... forced you back.”

Harrow felt a sob rising in her throat, but was distracted when Abigail motioned them both forward. They were going to lose Future Harrow if they lagged too far behind.

As they continued their journey further into the private section of Drearburh, Harrow was confused to see herself walk past the doors to her former bedroom, the larger guest quarters, and continue down the hall, stopping outside her parents’ former suite. Back again to the place where her entire life had been forever altered. She shivered as if chilled, and felt trepidation entering the rooms again, after so many years.

Inside, dust covered every surface, as if the rooms hadn’t been used for a myriad. Black sheets had been left to protect the furniture, which sent up clouds of ash along with the dust as Harrow shook out the covering formerly protecting a slim wooden chair. She opened a drawer in what had been her father’s desk, and pulled out a thick, coarse length of rope.

Harrowhark was no fool. She turned to Abigail, and asked pleadingly “why is she doing this? We need to stop her before it’s too late! Stop! Don’t do this Harrow!”

But it made no difference. The future version of Harrow could not hear her desperate shouts and pleas, and continued on with her ghastly task. Harrow watched herself as she prepared the rope, tossed it over a low beam, and moved the chair into place, before awkwardly climbing upon it.

“I can’t just stand here and watch this. This is hell. Why did you bring me here?! Why is this my future?” 

Abigail just shrugged sadly. “Only you control the path that leads here. As of this particular moment in time, this is your final destination.”

The other Harrow smoothed out her black party dress, before gently taking the thick coil of rope, and sliding it over her head. Once it was secured, she took deep, gasping breaths that became more and more unhinged with every inhale. She was openly sobbing now, and dark trails of paint streamed down her face like a blackened river at night. For a second, it almost seemed as if their eyes met. That haunted, broken Harrow of the future, with the confused, tortured version of her past. But just as quickly as it happened, she looked away.

After one more deep intake of breath, Harrowhark Tridentarius spoke her final words. Words she had longed to say for so long. As if they could ever repair her broken, twisted soul. She had cost so much. And only ever seemed to take and take and take. 

“I’m sorry Gideon.”

Then she kicked the wooden chair out from under her feet.

Harrowhark screamed. Tears streamed down her own face now. She could not do this. She absolutely and fundamentally could not do this. The reality of what she’d just witnessed hit her like a rapier straight to the chest. She thought her heart had been broken before. What lies she’d told herself…what a fool she had been. Her pride had cost her the only two things in the world that had ever mattered to her--- her House, and Gideon. She fell to her knees, sobbing and screaming until her throat itself seemed like it would give out in protest.

Finally, she remembered Abigail, and turned her eyes toward the black vestment clad ghost who had inflicted this hell upon her. Before Harrow could rasp out another question of her own, Abigail looked at her sadly, tilted her head, and asked:

“Is this how you want it to happen?”

****

Harrow woke with a start. This time, she quickly brushed away the last tendrils of sleep and immediately sat up out of the freezing cold coffin, and looked around the tomb for another unwanted visitor.

No one was there.

She wasn’t sure if she should feel relief or disappointment. The past two nights worth of visitors had changed her. She no longer felt the peaceful, easy and restful sleep she’d experienced since she locked herself away in the tomb. Every noise made her jump. Every shadow seemed menacing. Even the muted whispers she had heard in the background of her entire life seemed more agitated. As if they were irritated, angry, and waiting for something. And every second she delayed, she wondered if she was only journeying closer and closer to the end of her cavalier’s life. 

A sudden thudding noise left her jumping out of her skin. She was truly losing her grip now. Her hallucinations had been manageable once she was alone, and away from the outside world. But now seemed to be desperate to overtake her once again.

BAM!

The noise thudded again. That was definitely real. Harrow looked around the room, eyes darting from place to place in search of the source.

BAM! It sounded a third time. And she knew. Knew without a doubt at that moment that the noise was coming from the entrance to the tomb. She left her island mausoleum, swam through the icy waters, and ascended the dirt tunnel back up toward the door.

She was terrified to open it and find out what was on the other side. After the last two nights, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She pressed her hands to the door, debating whether or not to open it, when a voice on the other side spoke her name.

“Harrow. I can hear you breathing. I didn’t come all the way down to this glorified meat locker to stand out here alone. Open up!”

Before she could stop herself, she un-warded the door, leaving it open for anyone to enter. The heavy stone moved aside, and she found herself face to face from the one person she had never been able to hide from. Not in Drearburh. Not in Canaan House, and not even in her own mind.

Gideon.

She felt the tears welling in her eyes once again. Her sorrow overtook her like a riverbank overflowing after a rainstorm. It was too much. She had seen such terrible things, she couldn’t bear the idea of Gideon’s ghost showing her more atrocities. This must actually be Hell. She had finally died, and gotten what she deserved. And Gideon’s angry ghost had some to claim her at last.

Gideon stepped towards her, and she panicked like a cornered animal. She forgot every single thing she had ever learned about necromancy, and turned and ran; throwing herself into the icy water, she swam desperately back to her island mausoleum, and returned to the comforting bed of her frozen coffin. 

“What the fuck Harrow? No, great to see you, Gideon. Thanks for coming to rescue me, Gideon. It’s only been nearly two years…”

Harrow laid shivering in the coffin, hiding from this new, unusually talkative ghost. As if it couldn’t see her, or couldn’t possibly figure out where she had sequestered herself. She desperately clutched the two-hander. Forgetting she could barely lift it, and didn’t even know how to use it. Could she even stab a ghost anyway?

A sudden splash startled her out of her panicked stupor. The ghost had jumped into the icy cold water, and was swimming—or rather doing a poor imitation of swimming—towards Harrow. She moaned in fear. Resigned herself to her fate. There was nowhere else to go, nowhere left for her to hide. A lifetime of sins against God had finally caught up with her. The 200 screaming children who gave their lives for her own would finally be granted their retribution. One of their own had come to end her, and deliver her directly to them.

“What is WRONG with you, Nonagesiums? You’re acting like a scared child. Why did you run away?”

“Go away!,” she moaned. “Just leave me be, let me rot here! I can’t take anymore of this. You’ve won.”

“What is your bone addled brain even talking about right now?”

Harrow opened her eyes, and found the ghost of her dripping, red headed former cavalier standing right next to the side of her coffin.

“Is that…is that my two-hander that you’re clutching onto like it’s a baby? Give me that, before you mess it up.”

“No.” Harrow said, pulling it tighter.

Gideon asked her for the sword a second time.

“No! I said no, it’s mine!”

Harrow heaved the sword toward Gideon; barely able to swing it with her weak, necromantic arms.

Gideon stepped back and lowered her hands, placatingly. “Fine, keep it. Just don’t get any scuffs on it. I know you hate that sword.”

Gideon’s eyes roved over Harrow, like she was checking her for injuries. She was eyeballing the slim curve of her spine, before she suddenly yelped and pointed. And then she laughed-- actually laughed-- at Harrow.

“Is that my magazine too? What have you been up to in your alone time, Harrow? No bones to play with down here. Gotta get things done the old fashioned way, eh?,” said Gideon, wagging her fingers suggestively.

Harrow peered suspiciously at the taller, louder girl.

“First you steal my sword, then my dirty magazine. Are we sure I shouldn’t be asking if _you’re_ real, Harrow? You’ve sure changed. Your grip on my sword is garbage by the way. Your hands are all wrong on the pommel. I know you don’t even know what that is: That part right there---it’s a POMMEL!”

“Nav?,” she asked. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me, my Icy Empress. Who else would it be?”

Harrow threw caution to the wind, knocked the two-hander to the side (which earned her a pained wince from Gideon), and sat up, grabbing Gideon’s soaking wet shirt and yanking her forward directly into Harrow’s freezing cold arms.

“Griddle,” she sobbed. “It’s really you. I thought you were another horrible ghost sent to torment and punish me.”

Gideon looked stricken at that, like she wondered if Harrow was losing her grip on reality, and what exactly her necromancer had been dealing with while resting in the tomb. Harrow was openly crying now. Gideon wrapped her big, muscular arms around her and held her close. They’d both imagined this moment for so long. How things would go once they were reunited. _If_ they were ever reunited. Neither girl had ever imagined it would be like this, here in the darkest depths of The Ninth, within the Locked Tomb. Stuck in a dream that was more like a nightmare.

Harrow saw that Gideon’s eyes were full of tears too. She didn’t want to let go, after such a long, torturous time apart. Yet she had too many important questions to ask. She pried herself out of Gideon’s arms, and began her interrogation and lecture.

“You shouldn’t be here Griddle. It’s too dangerous. You’re risking getting stuck here, and my mind absorbing your soul.”

“I have people who know exactly what they’re doing on my side this time Harrow,” Gideon explained, and began rambling: “They got my body back! Boy was that fucking weird. It turns out they’ve had it this whole time. I think you may have known that, at least deep down? They believe they can fix us, but it would be a huge risk. I’m not one hundred percent certain I’m ok risking you like that. But…please come back. I’ll do anything you want me too. I’ll let you finish this, and eat me if that’s what it takes to convince you.” 

Gideon’s voice grew more and more shrill, becoming angry.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t just eat me in the first place! I _died_ for you. I gave you everything, and you threw it away. You could have lived a long, normal life. Instead you destroyed yourself rather than be beholden to anyone else. I thought things between us had changed, Harrow!”

Gideon was truly getting worked up now. They had finally reunited, after so much time apart, but tension and misunderstanding was driving them right back into the arms of their old, judgmental behaviors. Harrow had had enough.

“Just shut up and listen to me for a second, Griddle!,” Harrow exploded.

“We can hash out all of our past bullshit face to face once we get out of here. I didn’t ASK you to die for me. I never would have chosen that. And I would have given anything to get you back. ANYTHING! I still would! I begged God over and over again to bring you back, but he turned me down. So I took matters into my own hands, and did the only thing I knew how to do to keep you. I wasn’t trying to get out of being beholden to you---I was trying to save you! I couldn’t handle yet another person dying for me. I never wanted any of this.”

“When I said I couldn’t conceive of a universe without you in it, I meant it. I cannot do this without you. Can’t keep living, if it meant you dying… I erased you from my life to protect you, and save your soul. I couldn’t bear the cost of becoming a lyctor. I refused to accept it then, and I refuse to accept it now! I stayed here to save you, to keep you alive.”

Harrow was sobbing again, and now Gideon cried along with her.

“Everything comes back to you Gideon. It always has. The best parts of me were always you. Without you, I’m just a walking memorial to an atrocity I never asked to be a part of. A war crime.”

Harrow put her arms back around Gideon, pulling her close. She looked up into her golden, sunset colored eyes, and stared at her in awe. Those eyes had always caught her off guard. Being this close, as they gazed at her with a mix of longing and sorrow was disarming, terrifying, and left her panting in fear, and anticipation.

“Fuck God, fuck the tomb, fuck the lyctors, and fuck all of the houses too. All I want is you, Gideon.”

Harrow kissed her. Their lips met, tentative at first. Until they were both overtaken by the realization that this was finally happening. This was go time. Then they lost themselves in the touch and feel of each other. One of them had to be crying still, their tears mingling with every kiss. Neither of them cared. They have sacrificed too much, and been separated too long to worry about such things.

Gideon pulled back momentarily, suddenly shy under Harrow’s questioning gaze.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

“You think I have?,” asked Harrow.

“Well, I saw what happened on the mithrae—“

Harrow put her finger against Gideon’s lips, silencing her. “That doesn’t count Griddle. You’re the only one I ever wanted to be kissing. Now shut up and kiss me some more.”

As Gideon followed through on that command, Harrow was thankful her cavalier had finally, at some point in time, learned to take instructions seriously.

Gideon broke their kiss again. “As you wish, my midnight hagette.”

“Nav, you’re such an ass. An incredibly gorgeous ass. But an ass. Now please stop talking!”

She ran her fingers up Gideon’s impressive biceps--- god had she missed those biceps— up further across those rippling muscles, and to the back of her neck, then into the fine, soft hairs on the back of her head. She’d longed to do this for so long. To actually touch Gideon, and show her how much she cared about her in a way that words never could. To show her that everything between them didn’t have to be fighting, and sorrow, and sacrifice. Death had stood between like a metal railing, keeping each of them out and away from each other. Now nothing remained in the way. There were just the two of them—Gideon and Harrow, Harrow and Gideon, together at last.

Gideon’s tongue slid into her open mouth, and Harrow gasped. She suckled hungrily, as if she could never get enough of the other girl. Their kisses grew more frenzied. Gideon’s hands were on the small of Harrow’s back now, creeping up under the hem of her damp, black shirt. Harrow paused, breaking away from Gideon before lifting the shirt up over her head. Then quickly unbuttoned her trousers, and scooted out of those as well. She sat there on the edge of the coffin, bare and exposed before Gideon, whose eyes explored every inch of her naked chest and shoulders; eyes smoldering with desire at the very sight of her.

Gideon took Harrow’s hands, and tried to gently lead her down towards the dusty, dirt packed floor of the tomb.

“Absolutely not, Griddle. I’m not sure how they did things in the rest of your magazines, but we are not being... intimate on the disgusting, freezing ground.”

Gideon rolled her eyes. “Fine. But where else do you propose? We’re on an island.”

Harrow gestured to the marble tomb she’d called home for the past who knew how many months. 

Gideon looked at her incredulously, and said one single word 

“Ummm…”

“I told you Griddle. Fuck all of it. I wasn’t lying. I want you, and I can’t bear to wait another second. We might as well do this in the most comfortable place here.”

Gideon’s eyes grew large as she paused, unsure for a second what she should do. She quickly seemed to come to some realization that this suggestion was indeed better than the floor, and pushed down her inhibitions about the tomb itself, and climbed up to join Harrow on the slab.

They kissed again, leaving Harrow unsure if the salt water taste on Gideon’s lips and skin was from the pool around the tomb, or her tears. She kissed Gideon’s cheeks, licking them away as Gideon smiled her ridiculous, crooked smile back at her. She ran her hands over Gideon’s rippling back muscles, then lifted her shirt off taking in the site of Gideon’s glorious breasts. Harrow leaned forward, and took one dark pebbled nipple in her mouth, and began to suck. 

Gideon gasped, and moaned, and Harrow decided it was the best sound she had ever heard. She wanted to hear more of it. Gideon tried to maneuver herself on top of Harrow, but was pushed backwards, before Harrow scooted forward to straddle her hips. 

“Take off your pants, Griddle,” Harrow commanded. 

Gideon did not need to be told twice. 

She reached forward and around Harrow, and removed her black trousers and underwear in two quick motions. The air of the tomb was freezing, but Harrow only felt the burning, desperate heat between them. They were skin to skin, but she wanted--needed to be closer. She leaned down to kiss the reclining Gideon again, her mouth opening to take her hot, searching tongue into her mouth. They kissed like they were starving for it, not caring how perfect it was, if it was too wet, or their teeth banged together. The walls between them slowly eroded like a wave crashing over and over into the sand, pulling more back every second. 

Harrow and Gideon both moaned as Harrow’s nipples brushed Gideon’s chest. Gideon reached a hand up to feel Harrow’s breasts, and gasped. Neither of them really knew what they were doing. Harrow was happy to experiment as they learned and figured it out together. Gideon kept fighting her for control, but she was intent on proving to Gideon how much she cared for her, and how much she wanted her, to help melt away the doubts Harrow knew she had.

She slid down gideon’s legs, planting herself between them, and she spread both apart and took in the view in front of her. Damp, ginger colored curls glistened at the apex of Gideon’s thighs, and Harrow was overwhelmed with the urge to immediately bury her face into them and find out what Gideon tasted like. So she did exactly that. 

Gideon’s back arched, and she moaned at the sudden contact. It gave Harrow a secret thrill, knowing she had the power to make her cavalier completely come apart with a single touch. She spread apart Gideon’s folds, and laved her soaking wet cunt with her tongue; circling Gideon’s clit in slow, lazy strokes, that left the redhead panting, her fingers digging into Harrow’s hair as she worked.  
Gideon moaned, thrusting her pelvis upward to get even more contact with Harrow’s mouth. Harrow knew what she really wanted, and added her long, slender fingers into the mix, circling Gideon’s entrance before slipping two of them inside. 

“Fuck, Harrow!,” Gideon cried out. 

Harrow continued licking and sucking, while her fingers thrusted in and out of Gideon’s tight, warm cunt. Harrow would never admit it---but she had been sneaking and reading Gideon’s magazines for years. She was a voracious reader, after all. And she had learned _so_ many things. 

She crooked her fingers as she continued working Gideon’s clit with her thumb, hitting that sweet spot that should send her over the edge. Gideon came, shaking and screaming Harrow’s name over and over again like a prayer. She panted as Harrow slowed down her work, not stopping until Gideon was over-sensitive, and had gently pushed her away. She then pulled Harrow’s face up for another kiss then, which Harrow dutifully gave in to. 

They lay together for a while, Harrow pressed atop Gideon while she panted and caught her breath. Her hands stroked Harrow’s hair, soothing her. Gideon smiled down at her then, and Harrow thought her heart might burst out of her chest. 

After a few moments of recovery, Gideon gripped Harrow’s chin, and turned her until they were face to face. “Harrow...I want to fuck you now,” she said. “Is that OK?” 

Harrow nodded.

They awkwardly swapped positions, their sweat soaked skin quickly cooling in the chill air of the tomb as they slid into place, smiling at each other as they adjusted. Harrow leaned back against the cold slab of the marble coffin, then pulled Gideon down for yet another kiss. She let herself give in to the comforting weight of Gideon on top of her, one hand on her jaw pulling her in to deepen their kiss, the other grazing slowly down her back until it cupped Gideon’s ass. She tugged on Gideon’s lower lip with her teeth, eliciting another gasp.

One of Gideon’s arms reached down between them, her hand delving into Harrow’s cunt to find her soaking wet and ready. Gideon moaned at the revelation, and smirked down at Harrow.

“You’re so fucking wet.” 

Harrow blushed with embarrassment and averted her eyes. But Gideon raised her other hand up, and turned her back towards her own face.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Harrow. I want this just as much as you do.”

Harrow still couldn’t get used to the idea that someone as pure as Gideon wanted to kiss her, or touch her in any way. But she knew this may be their only chance. Even if it wasn’t real, she wanted this---needed this. And so did Gideon. 

Gideon parted her folds, and sunk two fingers straight into her dripping cunt, leaving Harrow gasping for breath. She squirmed under Gideon as she pumped her fingers in and out, her mouth on Harrow’s own, kissing her, and leaving her breathless. 

Every single touch, kiss, and stroke inside her broke down the armor around Harrowhark’s heart. The years of fighting, antagonism and misguided hatred melted away as Gideon fucked her on top of that stupid tomb. She gave up on her past, on who she thought she was, and who she thought she should be and just _existed_ as Harrow, there with Gideon-- the most important person in her life. 

The lines between them continued blurring until it felt like there was nothing left separating them. Harrow slid her legs around Gideon’s waist, pulling her even closer as their mouths and tongues moved together, gasping as Gideon’s fingers sped up faster and faster, and she sank a third one inside. Harrow screamed as she came, letting over 20 years worth of her past go as she bucked and writhed around Gideon’s hand, riding out her orgasm until she was left gasping and crying beneath her. 

Gideon kissed her again, hands coming up to her face to stroke her hair and tell her over and over again that everything would be OK. Harrow sobbed for what felt like forever, while Gideon’s soft tears dripped down and mixed with her own. 

When both of their tears had dried, Harrow propped herself up on Gideon’s chest again, and kissed her again.

“What, once wasn’t enough for you, Nonagesimus?,” Gideon asked. 

“Shut it, Griddle.”

“Why don’t you make me?,” Gideon said, smirking, before flipping her over, and kissing her way down Harrow’s chest, making a quick detour to suckle on a peaked nipple, before burying herself between Harrow’s legs and leaving her gasping. 

“I wanted to show _you_ how much I care about you, Gideon. So there is no doubt left in your mind. But you’ve thwarted my plans yet again!”

Harrow gasped as Gideon’s tongue circled her clit, not sure how much more she could take. 

“I’m serious!,” she said, panting. Gideon paused, and the site of her gazing up at Harrow from between her legs was one of the hottest things Harrow had ever seen. 

“I need you to know something. I lo---”

“I know,” Gideon interrupted before she could finish. “Don’t say it yet. Not here. Wait until you’re home with me, and it’s for real.”

Harrow conceded and let Gideon get back to work, running her fingers through her soft, red hair and moaning her name as she came completely undone yet again. 

****

Afterward, they laid together on top of that cold, smooth coffin, and held each other. Harrow could have stayed that way for eternity, but knew this wasn’t really real; that the Gideon here was just a ghostly projection of her true self. Regardless, she clutched her tight to her chest, and refused to let go for a single second.

“What now?,” asked Gideon, while trailing her fingers across Harrow’s naked skin. “I know we can’t stay locked in here together forever. As much as I’d like to…”

Gideon kissed Harrow again, and Harrow melted. She had spent so much of her life at arms length from Gideon. From her only friend, to hated rival, to cavalier, to so much more. They had orbited around each other like satellites their entire lives, and had finally come crashing together. Harrow knew she’d unleash hell, and burn the whole galaxy for the redhead she clung on to--- and she would most likely have to. The outside world still threatened to implode at any moment. If their friends believed it was safe for Harrow to return, that Gideon’s body had been retrieved—then she would risk it.

“Harrow,” said Gideon, starting to panic. “I think I need to go now. I don’t know how I know that…but I feel like I’m being pulled back.”

Harrow watched as Gideon gathered her pile of black clothing and robes, and slowly put each layer back on. Harrow noticed how awkwardly they draped over Gideon’s much larger, much more muscular body.

“Are…are those MY clothes?,” she asked.

“Yes. Out there, I’m still you. Still IN you…I don’t even know how any of this works. If I’m really here, or I’m just a ghost. I just know I need to go back. And that soon, you’ll have to meet me there. So we can finish what was started nearly 20 years ago. And ten thousand years before that...”

Gideon took her hand, but as the seconds passed, it felt less and less corporeal to Harrow. Gideon seemed to fade around the edges the longer she looked. Tears were in her eyes again, clouding her vision of Gideon even further. 

“Is this how it ends?,” asked Harrow, tilting her head questioningly at Gideon.

“It could be. If you come back to me. If you stay, and come back later...then I’m not sure if I’ll still be there when you come back.”

“Don’t leave me!,” Harrow cried. 

“You know I won’t, Harrow. Not _really_. I’m not going anywhere, ever again.” She kissed her as if she’d never see her again, just in case.

“See you on the flip side, sugarlips,” said Gideon.

And then Gideon was gone, and Harrow sobbed and sobbed until she felt she might explode from the weight of it all, naked and all alone again in the locked tomb. She laid back, pulling her black robes around her for warmth, and cried herself to sleep.

****

Harrowhark woke up.

There were bright lights —so bright she could see them shining right through her eyelids, and voices coming from every direction.

One voice stood out amongst the cacophony of the rest. A voice she’d never let herself forget again, not if the world ended. Not if she lived ten thousand years, or even longer. Not if it cost her her very soul to protect. 

It was the voice of the woman who had descended into hell to save her.

“Harrow. You’re back.”

Harrowhark opened her eyes.

“Hi...,” she said.

And then, unsteadily: “...Griddle”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Elldritch, and Bonecocoon for beta reading this one, and putting up with my heart crimes.
> 
> And extra special thanks to AceyBeeArt for this amazing, cursed image of "Ianthe and Harrowhark Tridentarius" together in Ninth House Paint:
> 
> https://aceybeeart.tumblr.com/post/638138774287761408/slightly-inacurate-fan-art-for-a-very-emotionally


End file.
